


Silence of the Room

by hedgerowhag



Series: To Be Free [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ben never became Kylo, Force-Sensitive Hux, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Starvation, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6687766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgerowhag/pseuds/hedgerowhag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is darkness beyond, swallowing all light and leaving nothing but the absence of the void. That is where he belongs, where he is kept until it is considered that he is ready for the next audience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to keep this under wraps for another week but decided to just screw it and post the thing
> 
> a shout-out to [nereid-lilies](http://nereid-lilies.tumblr.com/) for helping me with aspects of this fic and poking me on to do it, because tbh i would've dumped it halfway through
> 
> just a quick note: the pills mentioned are called 'vita-placers'. they are NOT from the sw canon. i made them up for an original sci-fi im writing. because i decided that they would be useful for this fic i tried to find their equivalent in sw but couldn't. so that's that
> 
> if anyone wants to ask me questions about this fic or anything else please feel free to get hold of me on [tumblr](http://beeeeebeeee.tumblr.com/)

_“There is no reason for you to endure this.”_

Splayed on the floor, he sees nothing but the stone slabs against which his face is pressed. Shifting his head to the side, he stares across the length of the room to the shadows that shift and grow.

_“You only need to stop it.”_

And then, his arms are being wrenched upwards from where they were fixed against his back. Up, up they are lifted toward his head until the resistance is met – a warning from the body that this is beyond its natural capabilities – but the force keeps on pushing even as the bone and muscle pop and squelch.

Before, he would have tried to bite down his cries as he felt the sockets pop when the bones left their natural places. But that was then, and now he screams.

It doesn’t stop until his arms are past his head, touching the ground above him.

_“You know what you have to do.”_

A boot crunches against his held writs and he is sure that he has bitten from his tongue as sobs wrench through his throat.

The pain halts and the silence slips as the gulps of wet whimpers ebb away.

There is a touch against one of his splayed legs, brushing down his thigh and towards the calf before disappearing. Something tightly cords around the ankle and he gasps though there is no pain.

The leg is lifted up from the floor and simply suspended mid-air. For a moment, there is nothing. He doesn’t know where to expect the next infliction to be and he knows that waiting will only make it worse. But still, he waits, gulping down the humid air as sweat trails across his skin.

The blow falls against his knee. It shatters the kneecap and then the leg is wrenched against its natural angle, the shards of bone cutting into muscle and skin. He is sobbing, blubbering and heaving wet breaths as he tries to shift away from the hands that continue to press against his broken leg. But he can’t go far; his arms are dislocated and he cannot crawl.

Seeing his desperate attempt of escape, the hands pull him back by the broken limb causing hoarse gasps and moans to fall from his throat.

_“The pain, it scares you, it angers you. Use those feelings and you can make it stop.”_

There is a wet pop and squelch as the broken bone and muscle is twisted. The cries are frozen in his throat as tears slip down his cheeks; the pain has trespassed beyond feeling, becoming numbing as his nerves are flayed.

_“Take control of it, make it stop.”_

He presses his face against the floor, his mouth agape in a gasp.

_“What do you say, boy?”_

The word barely escapes his throat, but eventually he manages it.

“N-no,” Ben whimpers.

In the silence, a breath creeps against his skin. _“Pathetic,”_ it says, and then, it is gone like the whisper of smoke.

Ben closes his eyes, pressing his forehead into the stone beneath him, breathing deeply to calm his tattooing heart and aching lungs.

Slowly, Ben opens his eyes and looks to the side. He is alone in the chamber, his hands are stretched out before him, still bound by the chains and his legs are splayed out across the floor. There is no blood or twisted bones.

With gradual movements, Ben allows himself to shift, pushing himself up and turning to lie on his back.

The guards will return soon so he savours all that he can see: overhead, a single pale disk forms the skylight and from it pours the glow of the fading day, slipping down the grey stones that build the column of the tower. There are alcoves surrounding circumference of the chamber, casting black shifting, wavering shadows in their hollows. Ben doesn’t know if they are doorways or just the shade of the archways. Every time he lies on that stone floor he imagines that a figure will walk through the arches of one of the pillared entrances and it will speak to him with the voice that he hears in his head.

Ben closes his eyes and allows his breathing to slow, feeling the sweat drip down his temples and neck. He places his hands on his stomach, feeling the thick manacles connected by a chain clink and clack as his chest heaves. None of the wounds are real. They never are.

The doors of the chamber open and the cold light of the corridor spills through. The guards march inside, surrounding Ben. Their masked faces shadow his view as they wrench him up by his arms, hoisting the limp body as his legs refuse to be of use.

They take him through the same steel corridors lined with silent doors, making the same turns beneath the lights that refuse to flicker or change. Even the guards are always the same, the Stormtroopers in their white armour that speaks of nothing but sterility, confinement and obedience.

It’s the same. It’s always the same.

Locks hiss as they disengage and a door opens. There is darkness beyond, swallowing all light and leaving nothing but the absence of the void. That is where Ben belongs, where he is kept until it is considered that he is ready for the next audience.

Ben would call it torture, but the voice that whispers inside his head calls it persuasion.

He is pushed inside and the door is locked, taking the light with it.

Ben doesn’t know what is within the room, he doesn’t know what is in the corners of the ceiling – if there even is a ceiling. But he has paced its width and length hundreds of times and has concluded that it is almost twelve feet in length and ten in width.

Tracing his fingertips along the wall drawing from the door, he feels his way towards the far corner where he collapses.

It has been almost three months since real food passed his mouth. Three months since the ambush that should have been of no cost to him resulted in his capture. Three months since he was brought to the citadel and the chains were hung on his wrists. They choke him like a hand around his neck, these chains, keeping down what he never fully understood – this mystical idea of the Force, this myth for which everything is to blame.

Ben thinks it has been three months, but he isn’t sure; it’s always dark inside the cell and there are no windows in the corridors through which they take him to the chamber. He can only count the passing of the days by the delivery of the three bitter pills that fill his body with nutrients and replace the need for actual substance.

Though the pills leave his tongue tasting foul and don’t offer the satisfaction of real food, Ben can’t help but feel thankful for them; they take away the need to drink water and to find relief. At least, there is little dignity in that.

But sometimes, he hungers and nobody comes to the door.

Sometimes, what he thinks are days pass and Ben remains alone in the cell and he is left to pace like an animal, stalking from wall to wall.

When this happens, there isn’t a sound but that which he makes. He even begins to miss the whispers creeping inside his head that speak of the dark side which wields the true power of the Force. He even yearns for the pain to return that enrages him as he whimpers like a broken beast on the floor.

In those days of silence and hunger, Ben only wishes to hear something other than his own heartbeat and breathing and those chains that click with laughter.

 

 

 

There is a tremor in the foundations of the citadel as if a quake has ruptured through the skin of the planet. Where it is there cannot be silence. All stillness is disturbed.

Sitting in the far corner of the room, Ben presses his hands to the floor, feeling the vibrations pass through the stone. He wishes he could escape on the waves of the tremor, pass through stone upon its crests. But the tremors ebb away and he is left behind.

There is a breath of an aftershock, and then the disturbance is gone. 

It only takes moments for the second wave to arrive, greater than the previous. There is something vicious about it, as if it would be able to crack through rock and steel should there be only a little more power behind it.

There is a third, a little further away, a little weaker, but it makes Ben smile – it is something other than the silence.

He counts the seconds and the minutes and the hours as he sits in the corner of his cell. There are no more tremors, but Ben grasps onto their memories.

 

 

The door of the room opens and the light of the outside breaks in. There are guards standing in the doorway, shadowing the path of the glow and Ben expects them to walk in and take him by his arms.

Instead, they push something inside the room.

There is not enough time for Ben to realise what it is under the brief stream of light that spills through before the door closes. The darkness shutters and the silence returns. Ben waits, refusing to breathe, his heartbeat deafening in his ears.

Something hisses with anger. A solid kick against the door follows as the sound of chains clatters in the confinement. The hiss again, a shuffle of feet.

“Who are you?” asks Ben, his voice hoarse.

There is a surprised yelp, chains clatter and clink, feet patter against the floor.

“There is someone in here?” asks a sharp voice, entirely new and unfamiliar and Ben clings onto every word and syllable that is formed in that odd accent that he is sure he could place if given the time. 

It seems odd, to laugh with relief because of a voice but Ben feels as if he has been blessed. Choking down his laughter of delirious joy Ben calls across the room: “I’m over here.”

There is a flinch, echoed by the ring of chains before cautious steps scuff across the floor. “Who are you?” the stranger whispers.

Ben stands and cautiously pushes away from the wall. It has been so long he is sure that he has forgotten how to speak to anyone else. “I’m a prisoner, like you.”

There is a breathless laugh. “You were captured by Snoke,” they says, “because you have something that he wants.”

“Who?”

“Snoke, that is his name. He is the voice that speaks inside your head while you’re in that tower.” The stranger stops. “That’s right, isn’t it? You hear his voice?”

“Yes, he speaks to me and tries to persuade me to turn to the dark side, but I don’t—” Ben tries to speak but his voice cracks like a choked off gasp.

There is silence and Ben thinks he has gone mad, maybe the other prisoner isn’t even there – he has just imagined it.

“Where are you?” the voice appears again to Ben’s relief.

“I’m here,” he answers immediately, reaching out his hand, as if he could guide the other.

He hears the chains clink as the stranger approaches. Ben keeps his hand reached forward until he knows the source of the sound is almost within his grasp and draws his hand across the empty space until he touches warmth. There is sharp bone of a shoulder and as he trails his fingers down he feels the inside of an elbow. Further he goes and feels a wrist, wrapped by a metal cuff, and then there is a smooth, open palm. The stranger seems almost real.

“Who are you?” The voice is still a little breathless and Ben can’t help but grin.

“I’m Ben,” he replies. “Ben Organa-Solo, I’m the—”

There is a belt of harsh laughter and the hand is retracted from beneath Ben’s touch. “You’re the son of General Leia Organa and Han Solo – the smuggler. You are a Resistance fighter. _Everyone_ knows who you are, _Ben_.” There is another breathy laugh and it sounds more distant. “I have heard that you are as dumb as a brick wall to the ways of the Force, but I guess Snoke has seen something in you.”

There is something about the tone of the words that sets Ben on edge. “And who are you?”

“I am Hux.”

“Just Hux?”

“Yes. I am— Well, I guess I was the son of the Commandant for the Imperial Academy.” The voice – Hux – seems unsure of the very claim.

This time, it’s Ben who is almost laughing out of the ridiculousness of what is being suggested. “And how did you, of all people, end up here?”

There is the silence again. It drags on for longer this time and Ben almost reaches out to check that his companion is still there. “Hux?” he asks the silence. “I’m sorry—” 

There is a heavy sigh that interrupts him. Footsteps trace across the floor. “I’m tired,” mutters Hux, and then, there is a body slumping on the floor against the wall beside Ben.

Ben lowers himself back into the corner, he can feel the heat from Hux’s skin or perhaps it’s just his imagination from the need to feel something real. But there is also the steady, rasping sound of the man’s breathing and the faintest _thump thump_ of a heartbeat. Once, these sounds would have driven Ben insane, but they are comforting in the dark cell – a small assurance that there is something other than the dark.

After many long moments of sitting without speaking – not in silence, not really – Ben realises there is an odd smell in the air. At first, Ben thinks it’s the chemicals that sometimes they use to flush down the prisoners to avoid the accumulation of filth that might result in disease. They use it rarely but the smell lingers for days.

It’s not the chemicals though. The smell is acrid and dry and Ben thinks that if he was to take a lungful of it, it would cloy his lungs and he would suffocate. He has encountered it before, Ben realises: when a bolt from a blaster rifle hits a wall and the stone falls apart in thick billows of dust.

“Hux, why are you in this cell?”

There is no answer at first. Then, the wet click of tongue sounds, followed by the heavy swallow and the scratch of fabric against the wall as Hux shifts.

“Hold out your hand.”

Though he is not truly sure where to expect Hux to be, Ben lifts his hand, offering it to the darkness.

A soft touch brushes against his forearm and draws towards his wrist, taking it and pulling it further into the absence. His hand is turned so that his palm faces down and then his fingers are brushing against soft skin. He feels a metal cuff enveloping the wrist and as it is pushed back, just beneath it, he feels three pronounced ridges, crossing over the protruding tendons and veins.

“It would have taken too long for the bacta to get rid of the scars completely – not that they care if I am marked.” There is a brief scoff from Hux. He lets go of Ben’s wrist, but he does not move away. “Those fucking idiots, they fell for it again. I only half expected for it to work.”

“What—what did you do?” Ben stutters, taking the thin wrist into his own hands and feeling for more traces of raised skin. He only feels the three.

Hux laughs and he sounds breathless. “I attacked one of the ‘troopers, broke a panel of their armour and stole a piece of what shattered. And then— I had to do it quickly, one on each, just under the cuffs so they would have to remove them.” Hux laughs again and pulls his hand from Ben’s grip. “They fell for it. They thought I was unconscious and removed the chains, to look at what I had done.

“When the restraints were gone, I used the force to cause the blaster rifles on the guards to malfunction and explode. I think that killed most of them. I’m not sure. Then I ran out of the cell and collapsed the walls, I think destroying others too.

“I’m not sure what happened next. I must have lost a lot of blood. I remember the medical ward, the smell of chemicals and then being marched back through the corridors. And now I am here.” He lapses from the story. There is a wet sound as Hux pulls his lips back into what Ben thinks would be a smile.

It seems so wrong to break the silence and Ben is sure that Hux knows no better, but he asks anyway. “But why are you _here_? In this cell. Don’t they want to keep all of us separate?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Hux hisses, his voice vicious. “I destroyed the cell and I caused the entire corridor to collapse. I assume there was nowhere else to place me. Don’t you know? Snoke has many like us. He is only waiting for one to join him and then he will kill the others.”

Then, a little more hysterically, he speaks again, “Maybe that’s why we share this cell. So that we kill each other in competition to gain his favour and do the job for him.”

There is a sort of supressed laugh, bridging into a cry that is pushed down by what perhaps could be hands being shoved against Hux's mouth.

Silently, Ben wonders for how long Hux has been kept prisoner in the citadel. Perhaps, having a companion in the black cell is not as much of a blessing as he first thought.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldnt get [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3lWwMHFhnA) out of my head

When he wakes up, Ben finds his throat is dry and tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He has to work it open slowly, peeling away the inside of his cheeks from his teeth. Swallowing down the cloyed spit, Ben gags from the taste but he forces it down.

Shifting forward, he tries to stand but finds himself halted by a weight lodged against his shoulder. Ben’s breathing suddenly seizes up. Like a swarm the recollections of the events that led up to him sleeping buzzed inside his head, futilely attempting to make sense of the situation.

Oh— the voice. That must be him.

Cautiously, Ben reaches towards the pressure weighing on his shoulder, the chains on his wrists straining him, and feels beneath his fingertips the knotted clumps of soft hair. It feels real, but Ben is unsure so he allows his hand to brush through the strands, pressing his fingers a little further until he feels the shape of the scalp.

Something snags on his fingers and the body beside him jerks. Ben almost bites through his tongue.

Hux shifts, heaving a snorting breath. He does not wake.

After making sure that Hux is truly not disturbed by his actions, Ben returns to exploring the messy tangles. Trailing one lock until his fingers slip from the end he realises that Hux’s hair must reach his shoulders. Smiling to himself giddily, Ben continues to map the features of the stranger beside him, chasing the sharp line of Hux’s jaw that is covered with in thick scruff.

Hux is human, Ben is certain of that, but he wonders what colour his hair must be. Is his skin pale or dark? And what about his eyes?

The sounds of the locks disengaging break apart those thoughts. The door opens and the light floods in. Ben has to shield his eyes to stop the stinging and loses his touch on Hux.

The ‘troopers march inside and grab him by the arms, but Ben is too sluggish to react when they drag him and he collapses back. As he is lifted away, Ben hears the heavy thump of Hux’s skull connecting with the wall which makes him jerk awake spitting curses.

In the brief slip of light Ben wants to turn around and see Hux, but they yank him out of the door, out into the glow that burns his eyes. Stumbling, he is pulled by the ‘troopers, their armour clicking as the footsteps beat and the march proceeds through the hallways.

It isn’t long before they halt before the doors of the chamber and Ben pants as his vision swims. Outward the doors open and he is thrown inside, landing on his hands and knees, the stone stinging his palms.

The door is shut and Ben is alone.

Standing to his feet, he stumbles away from the surrounding ring of shadows. Once in the safety of the fallen halo of light, he looks down onto his chained hands, expecting in some delirium to see a shred of evidence clinging to his skin from when he touched Hux – something to prove that the other man is real.

However, finding nothing but the red flush from the stinging fall and the slick of sweat from exertion, Ben allows them to fall against his sides in disappointment.

Now, he waits for the harsh shove against the skull, the whisper of the voice somewhere too close that he flinches and looks over his shoulder.

But it never comes.

Relaxing, Ben observes the chamber: around him the shadows in the alcoves churn, as if pits of tar that boil and threaten to spill.

He begins to pace the circle of the chamber, staring down every doorway of the black shadows that seem to ripple and reach. Ben halts, staring into one of the entrances – or so he supposes that is what they are. It seems like a ridiculous idea, but he lifts his hands towards the alcove and reaches forward.

It appears as though if his hands were to press in the shadows would simply allow him to sink inside and perhaps he would find something within – something other than the room and the corridors.

With sudden burst of anger and want, Ben pushes inside the darkness and feels cold envelop him. In a moment of triumph, he presses further, grinning, and steps towards the portal.

But as soon as he makes that step something pushes him out, throwing him with such force that he is hurled across the room. 

The world revolves in a sickening spin and then the skylight appears overhead as his back hits the floor.

The impact robs him of breath and Ben curls in on himself, gasping in pain, as the chamber darkens and all falls.

 

 

 

 

“Watch where you’re going kid!” someone shouts as Ben runs through the hangar where the moored Starfighters are undergoing maintenance.

There are sparks flying from metal being cut apart, hisses of gasses and clangs from machinery falling to the floor. Pilots rush through the hangar amongst the mechanics and officers — but amongst them all Ben can’t see his father.

Ben halts in the commotion, turning in circles as the green and orange uniforms whirl around him, suddenly too small to see above their waists.

“Dad!” Ben cries out but his voice is too small and becomes swallowed by the noises of the hangar.

Something rattles across the floor, metal clucking and clinking against the stone. It becomes louder and louder and when Ben turns around he sees a sphere hurtling towards him.

It’s racing on an imminent collision course with him, but Ben can’t move, eyes locked on the spinning orb with a domed head.

But just at the last minute, when it is certain that he is about to be crushed, Ben closes his eyes strikes out his hand.

It takes him a moment to realise that nothing has impacted against him and slowly he opens his eyes.

The creature has stopped.

Its spherical body is still spinning, but it can’t seem to actually move.

Ben stares at the strange thing. Noticing his outstretched hand, he drops it instantly. 

“Ben!”

He looks up and sees his mother marching through the hangar, her face riddled with anger, hands fisted. Then she sees the frozen droid and the terrified boy and her eyes widen, almost in fear, perhaps disgust.

The image sinks and distorts, disappearing in the rising billows of blue and purple smoke. But then the murk begins to solidify once more and within it appear two figures: His mother and beside her a cloaked man.

Ben walks towards them, wanting to take his mother’s hand but when he steps forward they both look at him and he sees two sets of eyes, so similar yet so difference, both filled with fear and caution.

He wants to ask them what’s wrong, to take his mother’s hand and cling onto her. But the pair turns and walks away, hurriedly speaking to each other as smoke envelops them.

Alone, Ben stands in shifting veils of dust and smoke. There is not a sound but the static of the shifting clouds and the scrape of Ben’s feet against the rock that covers the floor.

“Mom?” Ben whimpers. He wants to chase after her through the smoke but he doesn’t know what’s within it.

Shivering and fluctuating the billows of smoke swarm around him, the dust scratching against Ben’s skin and clinging to the wet trails that line his cheeks, making him rub at them furiously. Choking down the fear, Ben straightens his back and balls his small fists before rushing into the clouds – determined not to be faltered again.

“Mom!” he cries as his footsteps echo against the rock.

The smoke grows thicker around the boy as he runs, clinging onto his clothes, hair and skin. He stops when he can’t see any more and his lungs burn as he heaves for air. He is about to cry for his mother again but before he can open his mouth, something snaps forward and grabs hold of his neck.

Staring down, Ben sees a thick cloud of smoke gathering around his throat, building in density as the hold tightens. Suddenly, there is a shove that forces him back, making him stumble across the cracked stone.

The hold has become almost too tight and Ben is forced to claw at the smoke to try and escape its grip but he finds it solid beneath his hands. Wide eyed he stares down as the dust condenses and the excess flutters away, revealing beneath a pale hand.

Ben looks up and catches the sight of dark, angered eyes staring at him from the murk. There is a hard set scowl twisting pair of thin lips and Ben wishes he had never followed through the smoke.

“Mom?” Ben gasps, his own voice is deep now, no longer the child’s pleading yelp it was moments ago.

The grip continues to push him, forcing him out of the smoke and dust and it does not ease until the clouds are gone and Ben is standing in the middle of the dark chamber below the skylight, staring down at his own mother who clutches onto his throat.

Ben opens his mouth to speak but his feet are knocked out from beneath him and he collapses to the floor. There is a weight pressing onto his chest and throat, keeping him down as he pushes his legs and arms under himself in an attempt to get up. Something lifts him by his throat as he struggles before crashing him down onto the floor.

Gasping from the pain throbbing through his skull, Ben claws at the hand around his neck, trying to pry away the pressure that is so great his eyes water, but he grasps at nothing but the empty air. With an anguished sob, he lets his hands fall away.

A shadow blocks the falling light and Ben is met by his mother’s eyes. She sneers at him with her aged, kind face. There is a fleeting look of disgust as she turns away and moves out of view.

As the pressure doesn’t disappear, black flecks begin to shoot before Ben;s eyes. He fears that if he doesn’t take a gulp of air he will lose consciousness.

 _“You know what you have to do if you want this to end, Ben_ ,” the whisper speaks in his mother’s voice. _“You don’t have to endure this.”_

Then he being hoisted up by his neck before his head is slammed against the stone slabs. Again and again and _again_.

His vision blurs and sparks fly in the warping murk of the chamber.

 _“Say ‘yes’. Just accept the power of the dark side_ ,” says his mother as she stands over him again, her eyes amber and bright in the shadows. _“Be like your grandfather, take what is yours.”_

Ben chokes as the grip disappears. He closes his eyes, sucking down the gulps of air through his cracked lips, his hands fleeting to his abused throat.

_“Just say yes.”_

It takes all too much effort to form words between the gasps, but Ben still manages one word: “No.”

Like his mother and her father before, Ben has the Force flooding through his body. He knows it, and he fears it. The warnings were once just lectures from his uncle at which he laughed and tried not to listen. It seemed stupid at the time, of course he would never turn to the evil, of course he would remain loyal to the side of the light.

But in a moment such as this, to yield to passion, anger and fear, to just _take_ and be free, it has never been so tempting _._

It is so easy to succumb to it, but Ben remembers Luke’s words of caution and doesn’t allow his mind to waver.  

Ben stares firmly ahead at seeping yellow glow falling through the skylight, unable to form any more words of denial as black dots swarm in his vision and his chest convulses in pain.

 _“Pathetic,”_ sneers the creature that wears his mother’s face. And then, it’s gone.

 

They are barely able to drag him through the corridors as his body hangs like a dead weight. But eventually, they return him to the room

When the door of the cell is opened they lift Ben up by his arms and turn him to face them. Gloved hands clamp on his jaws and then three round pills are being forced through his lips, his head titled back to make him swallow. Ben almost chokes on the girth of the pills but the guards don’t seem to notice as he is thrown into the void of the room.

Ben collapses on the floor and is unable to push himself up; his chest still aches and head spins from the pain that threatens to crack open his skull – he is only glad that some mercy had been shown to him and his head remains intact.

The pills continue to choke him as they remain lodged in his throat, the dry bitter coating sticking to the slick lining of his bruised airway. Swallowing, Ben tries to force them down but begins coughing from the dry friction.

It was real, he realises, the hands tightening around his throat. It will leave a mark, but he will never see.

“Ben?” a voice startles him. He must have been deaf to the footsteps.

Ben remains silent, curling his arms around his head, wishing to be left alone but having no choice – for once appreciating the isolation of the cell.

A hand presses against his shoulder, smoothing over his back and towards his neck. “What did he do to you?” whispers Hux. The touch rises and brushes over the column of Ben’s neck. It doesn’t pain him but he flinches.

Hux instantly withdraws his hand. “Is that where he hurt you?”

Before he could remember that neither could see, Ben weakly nods.

“Come, I’ll get you up,” Hux says after a beat of silence and then Ben is being lifted up by his upper body and rearranged to sit against the wall. There is a warm press as Hux settles beside him.

“Is the pain real?” Hux’s voice is hushed.

Though Ben is afraid he can’t form coherent words yet, he reluctantly grunts a weak affirmative.

“You better be careful, Ben.” He can almost hear Hux form one of his smiles and it makes him cold all over. “He might not be as kind next time.”

Ben wants to ask what he means but instead he chokes, his chest convulsing as he slumps over in a coughing fit. He begins to retch, his chest burning and body shaking but nothing splutters onto the floor between his crossed legs. For at least this he is glad; he is unsure that the cell would ever be cleaned out.

A hand rubs over his back as Hux tuts at him for straining himself at which Ben scowls through his coughs.

Slowly the heaving subsides and Ben sits back against the wall, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

“You asked me why I am here,” Hux says, sighing deeply. “Why I am the prisoner of the people I was meant to serve—perhaps even rule.”

Ben wants to tell him that he has no interest in nostalgic recollections at this moment, but decides that listening is better than attempting to cough up his guts.

“Well,” starts Hux. “If you must know, when my ‘talent’ was found, a servant of Snoke was sent to test my abilities and this caused me realise what he is and what being his apprentice means. So I ran and found myself in some far corners of the galaxy. But he still found me, evidently.”

It takes a while for Ben to work out the words on his tongue but eventually he manages to whisper, “Why didn’t you want to be his apprentice?”

“Are you truly this thick or are you just pretending? I really can’t tell.”

Ben grunts, scrunching up his face in distaste.

“When I was still very young,” Hux says pointedly, indulging Ben’s ignorance, “I realised that I had this gift – the Force-sensitivity – and I began to hone it by reading anything I could get hold of on its subject. At the time, it felt so exciting to have this power, but I didn’t realise that living with it means such torture.” Hux swallows, there is something breaking in his voice.

“It is possible to feel the death of another through the Force.” Hux pauses, turning to Ben. “Do you know what that is like?”

No, no he doesn’t. Ben has been sheltered from that, kept safe and blind by his mother and uncle.

“It feels like the sudden snuffing of a spark and once it’s gone, the room falls cold. And I knew if I followed Snoke’s steps I would never escape that cold. So that is why I ran.”

Hux shifts, clothing scratching against the wall as he is leans in towards Ben, his breath warm and strong against Ben’s sweat slicked skin. He shivers and leans away, bracing for whatever Hux will offer him.

“Is that why they gave you to me?” There is a slick sound of lips being pulled over teeth. “To pull at my sympathy and my anger?”

Ben’s breathing has become raged and heartbeat wild. There is something dangerous in Hux’s voice and Ben doesn’t know what it means.

“Are you even real?” hisses Hux and then fingers snatch Ben’s arm, drawing down towards his wrist and tightening before tugging him roughly, almost forcing him to topple.

Ben is about to yank his hand back but finds soft palms enveloping it, holding it like a frightened, injured animal that will hurt itself more if it moves.

Slowly, gentle fingers follow the valleys and ridges of his calloused skin, tracing the bones of his scarred knuckles down towards the thin expanse of skin stretched across his wrist. Two fingers press there, feeling the _thump thump_ of a pulse.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: the suicide attempt and starvation tags heavily apply to this chapter 
> 
>  
> 
> and now on the lighter note. the 'final' chapter was originally 7k words long which was pissing me off so i split it into two. if anyone wants to throw a brick at me for writing shit fics you can find me on [tumblr](http://beeeeebeeee.tumblr.com/)

It took some time for Ben to find his words again as his abused throat restricted every syllable he formed. While the bruising eased, Hux spoke of stories about planets and moons he had seen as he ran through the Galaxy, away from the clutches of the rising power of the First Order and the Sith.

Once Ben found his words again, he in turn explained how his parents sheltered him from the Force and the dark side by forbidding him practicing it.

“They sheltered you from darkness with blindness,” remarked Hux. “Seems rather ironic if you think about it.”

Ben becomes awfully accustomed to Hux’s voice with its careful lilts and odd emphasis that he finally connected to the rainy world of Arkanis. Over the passing days, Ben learned to decipher the changes of Hux’s tone and the faint sounds as he shifted and assimilated emotion through his movements.

Yet it’s still difficult to track Hux’s feelings because they shift unpredictably and vary oddly. But Ben supposes he can’t blame him for his instability; he has been able to connect a notion of how long Hux has been in the citadel and Ben is surprised that Hux hasn’t cracked entirely.

 

 

Periodically, they are taken form the room to be marched to the chamber where the whispers wait.

The pain that is inflicted on Ben never breaches the line between hallucination and truth again but sometimes he is not entirely sure. Sometimes, the manifestations and reality merge and Ben finds himself unable to speak as his heart pounds and breath seizes in his throat.

They drag him back to the room, whimpering as if the gloved hands are disturbing fresh wounds. They throw him into the darkness, uncaring for what pain his is suffering.

In those moment, Hux sits beside him in the dark and speaks, asking where the wounds are. Once he has them all mapped out, Hux traces for the broken bones and the torn flesh but he never finds the wounds, confirming that nothing is there.

When Ben begins to feel his own body once more Hux takes his hands and guides him to sit down against the wall. Then, Hux asks Ben what the whispers told him, what they had shown him and if he knows it to be the truth.

When Hux is taken from the room, the silence is swallowing and each time Ben wonders if he will hear that ragged laughter again. He wonders what he will do without the soft words that bring him down from the terror.

Each time Hux returns, spitting curses like blaster fire as the door shuts, kicking it and marching through the cell. Never once does he quiver from the inflictions and Ben marvels at Hux’s spirit, his dedication not to succumb.

 

 

 

They are lying on the floor back to back with perhaps a foot of distance between them. Ben has been listening to Hux’s breathing slow and even out.

There was more rage than usual when Hux returned to the room; he began to assault the door as it shut, not faltering even when he split the skin on his knuckles. Ben felt the abused flesh afterwards and he is sure that there are stains on the stone, but he will never see.

When Ben finally willed himself to beg Hux to stop and pull him away, Hux collapsed to the floor and screamed himself hoarse. It was a wild and terrible thing, but somehow it didn’t surprise Ben. He only stood aside and waited for the howl to end as it faltered into something almost meek.

Slowly, Hux came down from his rage but it took him far too long and now Ben fears that even a movement might trigger Hux again. They have been lying like this on the floor for quite some time and he thinks that Hux has fallen asleep.

Ben flinches when he hears Hux turn and slowly work open his mouth.

“Ben?”

“I’m here.”

“I remembered… When— when I collapsed the corridor that day…” he begins. “There was a human girl whose presence I felt in the Force... She was like us.”

Ben turns over, facing Hux as he continues. “Even in the Force, she was such a young and tiny thing. I first thought she was asleep because the same thing turned on a loop in her head, like she was broken. The exact same thing: sand, more sand and then a ship rising into the sky.”

Ben shoots up from where he lied, wide-eyed and breathless. “What was her name?” he demands

“What?” Hux asks, confused, shifting up.

Ben knows he would regret it later, but he can’t stop himself in the moment when he grabs hold of Hux, hauling him up by his shirt as the chains of his shackles hit against Hux’s chest. “What was her _name_?” he bites out, overdriven by anger and fear.

When Hux says nothing Ben shakes him, feeling the limp body convulse. “What was _her name_ , Hux? Tell me her name!”

“Why?” tries Hux, locking his own hands around Ben’s wrists. “Why is she important to you? Who is she?”

Ben lets go of him, wincing when he hears the body thump against the stone. Sitting against the wall, he swallows a deep sigh. “She may be the last survivor of Skywalker’s apprentices.”

There is a breathless laugh. “A survivor of the massacre? Impossible! That rogue student of Skywalker slaughtered everyone before they had their own head cut off.”

“No,” Ben insists. “There was a survivor. I was there that day on a visit and when the battle began I helped her escape.”

Hux laughs again and its sounds a little more on the edge of mad, like he can’t believe what he is hearing. “Then you are in luck. She is so much stronger than any of us could ever hope to understand.”

 

 

 

 

There was a shift and Ben wishes that he had noticed it earlier, before he began to count the times Hux was taken from the cell.

Hux returned spitting anger as always – determined to show his spirit. He never spoke to Ben about what he saw or what he felt – he never needed to. But on one occasion, when Hux returned there was not a sigh of anger, not a whimper of pain. Barely a step into the cell, Hux collapsed to the floor. Ben had called to him but yielded no reply.

Afraid that his companion had been injured, Ben searched for him and when his touch fell onto the warm body he wrapped his arms around Hux, whispering pleas for a reply.

Maybe an hour passed, or perhaps two, before Hux began to speak. He pushed Ben away and told him that it was nothing.

Ben had almost believed him until the second, the third and the fourth time it occurred. On the fifth, Ben thought himself delusional when he heard Hux cry softly as his limbs folded under him and he fell to the floor.

As before, he gathered Hux into his shackled arms and asked him for a reply that would tell him that Hux is ‘okay’.

He didn’t expect the thin, broken voice whimper “I can’t, I can’t do it anymore.”

It scared Ben because he thought nothing would ever shake this man that seemed to be an endless expanse of wit and determination. Nothing should have ever shaken him, and yet it did. So Ben held Hux closer, trying to shield him from the crawling darkness of the cell, whispering incoherent comforts as the other shivered in his arms.

He might not have known who the man was, but he thanked the galaxy for giving him to Ben, saving him from the insanity of the silence of the dark four corners.

Hux didn’t speak again but he turned in the askew embrace and pulled his chained arms around Ben’s shoulders, pushing his face into his neck, swallowing the wet sobs that Ben pretended he didn’t hear.

 

 

The sixth and the seventh time occurred, each seeming to be worse until Hux didn’t speak again and refused to respond to Ben’s touches.

On the eighth time, Hux didn’t come back.

 

 

Once, when the guards returned Ben to the room, he begged them for an answer about Hux’s disappearance. He tried to stall them with his struggles by collapsing in the corridors and digging his heels into the floor until they obliged him.

Instead of some sort of an answer, it earned Ben the slam of a rifle to his skull.

 

 

Ben is unsure how long it has been. It feels like months but he can’t tell anymore. The audiences from the whispering voice became more and more infrequent and the gaps of time between each visitation longer until after perhaps weeks of silence he has to concluded that they have ended.

He wonders if it means that their interest in his has truly expired. After all, there are others with who Snoke can occupy his time with.

 

Rarely does Ben see the light outside the cell anymore and the silence has grown almost unbearable. Though Ben became accustomed to it in the first months he had spent in the citadel, after Hux’s disappearance there seems to be a void that he cannot ignore.  

Ben only hopes that the girl – Rey, if it is her – has been saved from this torture. Perhaps, he hopes, it’s not Rey after all, but some other poor child who has been captured while she remains on the sand planes of a planet far, far away.

And those thoughts try him, pull and sap at the last dregs of his sanity as he curls into a black corner of the cell.

Perhaps that’s what this is: just another test, just another temptation.

 

 

 

Ben decided that he has grown sick of the silence of the room. So he doesn’t take the pills anymore, hiding them between his teeth when they are pressed into his mouth, falsely swallowing as the black and white masks watch him.

Somehow, the guards do not notice this and soon, without any nutrition to sustain his body Ben begins to feel himself drift as his stomach twists in pain that travels up his throat, threatening to suffocate him.

Even as he lies in pain, too weak to stand, never once is he swayed by the temptation to allow himself to eat again if it means remaining in the room any longer. The emptiness and weakness excites Ben because it means being a step closer to freedom, a push further into winning this game. Perhaps, he finally understands the rules.

 

As his body fails him, the hallucinations come, drifting in and out of his mind. Ben knows they are not real, because there is nothing but him in the room. But sometimes, he allows himself to believe in the hand that takes his own.

 

 

 

 

Unconsciousness swallows Ben when his malnourished body collapses, no longer able to support him with nothing to sustain it.

When the guards find him they take him from the cell, hauling him into what can be assumed to be a medical ward. They place his body onto a cot that is no more than a panel of metal and begin to press needles through his skin to deliver fluids into the bloodstream. A tube is passed through his throat into his stomach, forcing the nutrition into his gut, scratching the walls of his esophagus as it is shoved inside.

Ben doesn’t notice this as he remains in deep sleep.

 

It takes two days for Ben to regain consciousness.

When he opens his eyes he sees the black uniforms of the First Order officers as they speak amongst each other. He can’t make out the words but it makes him grin because they have kept him alive and this means that he is in the citadel for a reason. Perhaps, he still has a chance to see something other than the bleak walls of the hallways and the darkness of the black cell.

When he is returns to the room, they watch him swallow down the pills, commanding him to open his mouth to check that they are gone.

 

 

Ben doesn’t try it again because he knows something is due to come and he can’t bear down his excitement.

 

 

 

The door of the room opens and Ben approaches, expecting the pills to be pressed to him but instead, they take his shackled arms and haul him out into the corridor. His eyes burn from the light; it has almost become foreign to him after growing too accustomed to the darkness from weeks if imprisonment that followed his transfer from the medical bay.

Stumbling between the guards Ben winces at every interval of light but the pain is soon overdriven by excitement as Ben notices that they are making the same turns he once took towards the chamber. Perhaps he will finally be allowed to knows his fate: whether he will at last be killed or will there be something more for him; perhaps he will act as bate for the Resistance once his mother finally finds out that he is alive.

His thoughts are halted when the guards stop before the entrance of the chamber that looms over them as if a void. The stationed guards pull apart the doors and Ben is pushed inside, but he does not stumble.

With the shutter of the locks the doors are closed and Ben stands alone in the tower.

The orange light of the sun’s evening descent pools within the chamber, deepening the shadows that fall from the arches of the dark alcoves. There is a hum of trepidation that Ben recalls from the previous audiences as something lingers on the edge of consciousness. As before, the whispers do not begin instantly; he knows that they are waiting for him to engage in the play, to walk forward and asses the room for a hidden enemy.

However, Ben does not walk forward. Instead, he remains at the doors, his chained hands fisted by his sides as he watches the archways where the shadows shift, swallowing the light. Finding nothing within them, Ben looks upwards to the sky and sees the contours of the bloated orange clouds drifting over the darkening expanse.

There is a faint sigh within the chamber.

Ben flinches and glances around himself.

Something distorts darkness within the stone frames, bulging and warping the shadows as if they are liquid.

Ben watches as something strains against the membrane of black in the arch at his left. His eyes widen and breath hitches as the edge of a red robe bursts forth through the dark, followed by a tall boot of equally red leather. A second foot appears and forth walks a tall red robed figure whose face is shielded by a mask.  

They are joined by five other of robed phantoms that have stepped out of the black archways circling the chamber. After two footsteps into the chamber they halt, bracing their hands on the swords that they bear.

They seem like acolytes, these faceless warriors and Ben does not know who they are for their presence has not been seen amongst the ranks of the Galactic Empire for many decades. They are like the red eye of a setting sun that portends a storm on the horizon and their silence is equal to the cry of a thunder clap.  

Ben stares at them, unsure if what he sees is the truth of the figment of a manifestation. His focus is braced on them for only a moment before his gaze is snatched away by movement at the far end of the chamber: a portal shifts and churns and a seventh figure steps forth into the tower.

This one is not clothed in red, but in the black robe of a priest. A heavy cowl hangs over the stranger’s eyes, shadowing their features beyond recognition. It is as if the very darkness from which they have stepped has warped around them and clung to their skin to hang away as robes.

With broad steps the cloaked figure walks into the centre of the chamber, stopping at the edge of the halo of orange light, the shadows growing around them like black arms. Raising one gloved hand, they gesture for Ben to come forward. He only narrows his eyes and tilts his head in question.

When Ben does not move the cloaked figure lowers their hand and Ben half expects them to command the red guards to bring him forward. But there is no need because an unseen force throws him into the centre of the room and he finds himself on his knees before the dark priest.

Wincing, Ben looks up at the acolyte but sees nothing but the black casted shadows.

A gloved hand reaches forward and traces a fingertip over the sharp line of Ben’s left shoulder. It makes him want to flinch and shrink away from touch that violates his skin, branding him as if an object.

“Oh Ben…”

The voice is like a tremor passing through foundations of the citadel, threatening to break it apart. It makes something inside Ben’s chest seize and his throat constrict as if his own body threatens to fail him.

“Hux?” Ben whispers, staring up at the dark stranger.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick note: as part of my own little may 4th celebration, all of my star wars works (yes, they're all kylux) have been taken off anon. so if any of you like this bullshit, you know where to find more 
> 
>  
> 
> and so, this is the final chapter of this fic. i hope everyone enjoyed reading it because goddarn it was a fukin pain in the ass to write. if anyone wants to find me and drown me in a bucket of shit, im always available on [tumblr](http://beeeeebeeee.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> EDIT: if anyone wants to ask me any questions, please just feel free to send me a message on tumblr (link above obv)

“Of course it’s me, Ben. Nobody else would ever return for you,” murmurs the cloaked man, drawing his gloved hand over Ben’s shoulder and up his neck, brushing it through the tangled, dirty hair. “I hope that you appreciate display that I have put on.” Hux turns to the red sentinels. “They were appointed personally to me by the Supreme Leader.”

“I-I—.” Ben breaks off, suddenly wanting to lean into the hand that twists a lock of his hair around a gloved finger but all at once he fears it too. “I thought you died.”

Hux laughs that familiar insane laugh that Ben has learned to no longer fear. The hand snags his hair as it wrenches out from the tangles. “You think that I prize morals over my own life?” Hux barks with a grin in his words. He steps back, as if assessing the kneeling man.

“But you said—.”

With the raise of a hand Hux clamps Ben’s mouth shut, locking his teeth together. “Hush, I know what I said,” Hux scolds him. “But many things have changed while I was away.” Lowering his hand, Hux reaches inside his robes and reveals metal hilt attached to his belt. He takes it into hand, reverently holding it out before Ben. “I understand how blind I have been,” he says. “The true power of the Force has been show to me, and I can no longer deny it.”

Like a pulse the blade of red plasma blasts out of the hilt, shooting up skyward, illuminating the floors and the walls, bathing the two men in the twilight of a star’s last glimpse.

“I have come to decide your fate, Ben,” Hux speaks, reaching his free hand towards kneeling prisoner. “I am the Supreme Leader’s apprentice and I have been given the gift of choosing whether this day you die or you live.” 

As the gloved hand comes to linger above him, Ben braces himself against the pain that he knows will soon course through his body as the manifestations swarm his mind. At least, Ben can remain glad that he will never know the face of his betrayer and he can still believe that this is not Hux, though the voice he cannot deny.

There is a cry of agony, but it isn’t Ben’s.

His eyes flash open and he sees the red figures of the guards pinned against the walls, something distorting the red cowls around their necks as they expel sounds of choking.

Hux is still standing over Ben, the lightsabre ignited but the other hand has been redirected somewhere above Ben – to the doors.

Flashes and spark fleet through the chamber as broken cables hiss and spit. A dark shadow falls over Ben as the sound of doors crashing open disturbs the scene. Blaster rifles fire and something clutches Ben tighter, closer, as plasma hums and cries. Heavy bodies crash to the floor, there is a shout of pain and armour clatters on the stone. 

It’s silent now, only the drone of the plasma pulses fills the chamber.

Ben remains kneeling on the floor as the darkness falls away and he can see again. The acolytes have all collapsed to the floor in sprawls of red on the black stone. As Ben turns he sees the limp bodies of numerous Stormtroopers scattered on the floor between the opened doors of the chamber.

“We have to leave, quickly.”

Ben looks to Hux where he over stands him, the saber still pulsing in his hand. “I don’t understand.”

Hux reaches down, offering Ben his hand. “This is a rescue.”

“I—I don’t—,” Ben chokes off, staring at the gloved hand. When Ben does not stand, Hux sighs and grabs him by the arm, hauling him to onto his feet.

“We are not done yet, you will need your hands,” Hux explains as he lifts up one cuffed hand before bringing forward the lightsaber and pressing it against the metal, melting the interlocking loops that hold together the cuff. One falls away, soon followed the other, allowing the chains to drop onto the floor.

It feels like a rush of cold air, this return of something Ben never knew he was missing until it was gone, and he can see again, _breathe_ again. Ben almost smiles as he looks down on his freed wrists.

“We need to go,” Hux says as he stalks around him, drawing Ben out of the reminiscence.

Standing over the mound of ‘trooper corpses Hux snatches up a rifle with the gesture of a hand and flings it towards Ben who catches it with uncertain hands – the weapon uncomfortable in his grip. Hux doesn’t seem to notice as he walks through the doors, turning right in the corridor. Fearing that he will lose sight of his rescuer, Ben follows.

Outside, the black figure sweeps through the corridor, opening the shuttering doors with the mere flick of a wrist.

These are the unknown territories of the citadel and Ben can already feel himself lose his sense of the place. “What do we do now?” Ben calls after Hux.

Somewhere close by, there is an echo of feet marching across the stone floors. When Ben turns he sees the glimpse of white armour rounding a corner down from opposite corridor.

“We run!” Hux cries out as he powers down his saber and races through the hallways with Ben following behind.

The doors shut on Ben’s heels just as the blaster bolts hit against the metal. They race through the fortress of the citadel, taking sharp turns as their feet squeak against the floor. It seems as if they have found their way deeper in the citadel as the anonymous doors surround them – identical to the door of the room in which they were kept.

Finally, Hux begins to slow, taking a leisured pace as he draws his hand over the doors which they pass.

“What are we doing here?” Ben asks, still panting from the run, glancing down the way from which they came in expectation of Stormtrooper squadrons.

Hux doesn’t answer. He halts in front of a door and takes up his saber, powering the red blade. Taking the handle in both of his hands he thrusts it into the lock, melting the alloy as the wires spark. Once the mechanism is destroyed he brushes the door open with the movement of his hand.

There is darkness within but even with his underdeveloped Force abilities, Ben can feel that there is life in the room.

“I need you to remain on the look-out,” Hux warns, not looking at Ben.

“What is inside?” Ben tries, but he is given no answer as Hux passes the threshold and merges with the darkness. Even the footsteps seem to be swallowed and Ben is left on his own.

Bracing the blaster rifle, Ben leans against the wall, finally catching his breath. He finds it difficult to understand entirely what just happened to him, how could the events that were certain to lead to his death had turned so differently.

There is a sound within the cell that alerts Ben from his daze. Looking inside, he sees something brush within the stream of the light pouring into the room and then Hux’s dark figure steps out. He is holding something in his arms – a form draped in tattered remains of sand coloured clothes.

“Rey,” Ben gasps, stepping forward to look at the girl. She appears to be unconscious but there are no clear wounds on her though her face is contorted with discomfort. Shifting in her sleep, she hits a closed fist against Hux’s chest, her teeth briefly baring.

The years had changed Rey so much, Ben would have barely recognised her if it wasn’t the winding cycle of thoughts that Hux had described: sand, more sand and a rising ship.

“What’s wrong with her?” Ben asks, tentatively brushing away the sweat damp hair from Rey’s face.

“She is quite alright,” assured Hux. “Just rather exhausted from her ‘fight’ with Snoke. After she has rested she will wake up.” After a brief deliberation Hux stepped towards Ben, offering Rey to him. “Will you be able to carry her? I’m afraid I will require both of my hands.”

Ben readily offers his arms to Rey’s unconscious body, one arm cradling her shoulders and the other, which still holds the rifle, under her knees. She is lighter than he expected but she seems healthy.

Hux takes the weapon from him and braces it in his left while holding the lightsaber hilt in the other. “We will go to the ship hangar,” he explains. “There will be many guards but all I need you to do is to stay out of the way. Do you understand?”

“What about the others?”

Hux seems confused, pausing. “What others?”

“The other prisoners,” Ben exclaims. “We can’t leave them!”

The confusion melts away and Hux laughs. “There is no one else here, Ben,” he says, there is venom in his voice. “No Force-user anyway.”

Noticing Ben’s reluctance, Hux continues, “Snoke had tricked us, making us think we are disposable. If you don’t believe me just feel it in the Force, find someone else like us. You know how to do it.”

Though Ben is hesitant to accept this, he breathes in deeply and closes his eyes, submerging himself in the Force. Of course, he has never been trained in the use of the Force, but as he pulls on a single string within his thoughts, it unravels effortlessly beneath his touch.

There, in the static of darkness, he feels the presence of the ‘troopers, the officers, the medical staff and the pilots. But their minds are almost dulled, there is no gift of the Force within their blood. As Ben’s consciousness searches, he finds the corridors of cells empty. Empty. Empty. Empty—.

“Now, do you see?” Hux draws Ben out of the search. There is a gloved hand pressed to his wrist.

After a firm nod from Ben they set away through the corridors, miraculously avoiding any clashes with the dispatched squadrons. As they pass further through the citadel the clinical white and grey ebbs away, allowing jagged lines of durasteel and light-panels to appear in intervals with the running lines of industrial wires. It seems that they have finally approached the citadel’s outskirts.

They halt at a door with a porthole glimpsing into the space beyond. Hux observes through it, blocking the view with his back. “There are more guards than I had expected,” he comments. “We will run for the command shuttle. If you get to it first, get on board and start the lift off.”

The door opens and Hux marches through into the falling light of the red sunset that spills into the hangar. He is nonchalant as he braces his thumb over the activation button of his saber, watching the guards below. Ben follows him through, trying to hide in Hux’s shadow.

They find themselves on a walkway above the hangar where the TIE line Starfighters are moored, bound to their stations with chains. Amongst them, there is a Lambda-class shuttle flanked by stationed guards.

It doesn’t take long for the shouts of distress to rise as the ‘troopers spot the escapees. Upon approaching the gangway down to the hangar they are quickly surrounded by the guards, the laser points of the rifle fixed on them.

The ‘troopers commanded Hux to surrender, threatening to shoot. But instead of obliging, he lifts up his own blaster rifle with one hand and takes a single shot at the ‘trooper blocking the path from the gangway. The blast burns through the soldier’s chest and they collapse to the floor, triggering the surrounding ‘troopers to begin fire at the escapees.

Ben braces himself for the hits of the plasma bolts, curling around Rey’s unconscious body. And yet, none of the bolts even reach him.

Looking up, he sees the red blade of Hux’s saber flicker through the air, deflecting the pulses of plasma. As Hux walks towards the ‘troopers, not a single bolt slips past him as the red blade and the pulses collided, sending the shots propelled into the air, often hitting their own shooters.

At the foot of the gangway Hux comes to stand before the remaining ‘troopers who back away, never ceasing their fire. In a glimpse of weakness, the solider before Hux drops their stance, allowing Hux to grip his saber with both hands and thrust it into the ‘trooper’s body. He pushes it upward until it meets the line between the soldier’s helmet and the chest plate and then he withdraws the blade, allowing the scorched body to collapse. 

Stepping down onto the floor of the hangar, Hux stalks towards the three remaining troopers, cornering them against a stationary TIE fighter, continuing to deflect the blasts without effort.

A terrified ‘trooper suddenly shoots and the bolt grazes against Hux’s arm, revealing a line of seared flesh below. Instead of it faltering him, the wound spurs Hux on in a bout of silent rage as he storms down onto the ‘troopers, glancing away the shots and pressing on towards them, cutting through them with swift ease.

Making quick work of the soldiers, Hux calls Ben down from where he has remained frozen on the gangway, staring at the darkly clothed figure in disbelief.

“Quick! To the shuttle!” commands Hux as he turns and runs for the ship.

Avoiding the fallen masses of the ‘trooper bodies, Ben follows Hux through the hangar, Rey’s body tightly clutched to his chest as each step jostles her. It is unnecessary for him to be so gentle, but still Ben can’t help it.

The entry ramp is lowering as Ben approaches the shuttle and Hux stands beneath the breach, waiting for him. In a moment of respite, Ben pauses at the ramp, his arms shaking as he struggles to support Rey’s weight.

Something cries overhead, a faint buzz of energy. Light floods across the floor and the hull of the shuttle, but there is no hit.

Looking up, Ben sees Hux holding a single hand over him. It takes a moment for Ben to realise that just behind his back a single blast of plasma hovers suspended, humming in a streak of light.

“Get inside the ship!” barks Hux, pulling him forward by the scruff of his shirt. Hearing the sounds of the approaching troops, Ben clambers up the entry ramp into the shuttle.

Remembering Hux earlier command, Ben enters the shuttle’s cockpit and lowers Rey into a seat, strapping her in securely before stepping to the control panel. Though unfamiliar with such a ship, Ben navigates about the controls and disengages the ship from its station.

As soon as Ben has a confirmation that Hux is inside the ship, the entry ramp closes and the shuttle begins to manoeuvre out of the hangar, drifting into the expanse of the pooling red light that drips into the citadel. Hux appears beside Ben, engaging the shields as the landscape opens before them: there is nothing but the grey sands and rising backs of the jagged mountains amongst the dunes.

Finding the air clear, the shuttle raises into the atmosphere, quickly increasing in speed as it breaks through the cover of red-struck clouds. For a moment, as the atmosphere begins to thin, Ben wishes he could look back and see the walls of the citadel but he knows it’s not possible because their only path is ahead.

Entering the void of space, bearing on the edge of the atmosphere, they are caught in the brief flash of crimson as the sun falls away on the horizon. Quickly, it passes as the hyperdrive is engaged and the stars begin to blur and streak and the shuttle enters hyperspace.

And at last, though they are hurtling through the void faster than the speed of light, everything finally begins to slow and the escapees allow themselves to breathe.

After plotting the coordinates and activating the autopilot, Hux pushes away from the controls and steps towards Rey who remains asleep despite the commotion that surrounded her. As Hux unbuckles Rey and lifts her from the seat, a look of pain contorts Rey’s face before fleeting away.

Hux turns and walks towards the threshold of the cockpit. “I will place her in one of the cabins in the lower level,” Hux says, briefly glancing back at Ben. “I suggest you make use of the ‘fresher; you look like a mess.”

Ben snorts but doesn’t deny it; he can feel the sweat and grime cloying his skin and he can’t even begin to imagine what his face must be like.

“I’ve managed to stowaway some clothes in the lockers, perhaps you will find something that fits you.” And then Hux leaves in the swirl of black robes.

Ben remains in the cockpit a while longer, leaning against one of the seats as he watches the light of the stars wash over him. The glow of the controls flickers and flashes like tiny city captured in the panelling of the shuttle, continuing its own life even as the pilots step away.

Ben bites back a laugh; he hadn’t believed that he would ever see anything beyond those citadel walls and it still feels like a warping dream.

But he decides to accept it, for now.

As Hux recommended, Ben finds the lockers which contain bags of supplies amongst which he finds clothes: all black robes and basic garments. Every article of clothing is near identical in its anonymous, almost military design and there is not a piece of evidence could tell Ben who Hux is.

In a bout of curiosity, Ben opens another bag, perhaps hoping to discover something of personal belonging – some small object that would speak of who hides beneath the shadows of the robes. But instead, he finds food rations. Within a third bag there is weaponry and other necessary technology.

Suddenly, Ben feels like an idiot. Of course Hux would have no personal belongings; once he left the cell he was in the hands of Snoke, conditioned and honed into an apprentice of the dark side, both obeying him and rebelling beneath the surface. How would he have time for unnecessary material belongings? And besides, why should it be any of his business?

Scolding himself, Ben returns to the clothes and collects what he hopes will fit him. He also snatches a bottle of something or other from the rations, but finding it tasting like rancid fruit and it burns his tongue so he dumps it back in the bags – real food and drink can wait a little longer.

In the ‘fresher, he finally rids of the layers of filth that clung onto his skin for weeks. The moment he washes the grime away feels as if pounds of weight have been shed. Beneath, Ben’s skin has become sallow and grey without the touch of sunlight and he feels his bones protrude from beneath; they’ve kept him fed but only just. It seems a relief to shrug on the black clothes.

The ‘fresher room is edging onto being barest minimal but there is a compartment behind two sliding mirrored doors which hold the basic toiletries. Selecting a standard safety razor, Ben closes the cabinet and forces himself to look at his reflection. Wincing, he confirms that he looks as ghastly as imprisonment for half a year in a blacked out cell without the basic facilities suggests.

After scraping away the mangled scruff from his face, Ben assesses the mess of his tangled hair. It has grown almost past his shoulders and though it looks odd to him, Ben decides that there is nothing that he can do about it now other than force out the knots.

Afterwards, he looks like a stranger, with tired, bruised eyes and scars he doesn’t remember ever having. And the clothes that hang off his body are too stiff and the high collar of the tunic chokes him. But at least Ben can claim that he is alive.

Exiting the ‘fresher room, Ben dumps his old clothes to the floor; the only thing they are good for is burning.

“We will have to change ships eventually,” Hux calls from the direction of the cockpit. “This shuttle is too easy to recognise and its affiliation might cause a stir.”

“It will be difficult to find any other transport without credits to pay for it,” Ben replies, following the voice through the shuttle.

Hux laughs and it’s as if they are still in the room. “Yes, but you are forgetting that we have the Force on our side.”

The seats of the cockpit come into view as Ben descends towards the pilot station. Suddenly, he halts, struck frozen as his mind reels.  

Ben had expected to see the faceless cloaked figure sitting before the controls, warped by shadows and anonymous shrouds – the same void of presence he has known during the months of his imprisonment, something he has grown used to and became fond of. 

Instead, in the pilot’s seat he sees a man, no older than himself, with freckled pale skin and long, tousled red hair that reaches past his stubbled jaw. Leaning forward, he props up his chin with a slim, almost delicate hand – seemingly too fragile to wield a lightsaber with such ferocity that Ben had witnessed. 

Leaning back, the man turns away from the view of the hurtling stars and looks up at Ben. His face is angular and sharp and it only seems appropriate because his eyes are like ice, neither blue nor green and so pale his pupils are like pinpoints. And yet this coldness melts as his red hair flares like firelight in the passing glow of the cosmos.

“Ah, now that’s better,” the man says in Hux’s voice, his lips raising in a smile. “Since we seem to be bound together perhaps you wish to know—.”

Ben never lets him finish that thought because he marches forward and seizes hold of Hux’s jaw and pushes him to look up at Ben. The pale eyes stare up at him confused.

There is only a brief glimpse of hesitation before Ben leans down and catches the red-head in a clumsy kiss. It’s all too much pressure and the angle is all wrong but when there is no protest to the action Ben presses closer, taking Hux’s face into his palms, feeling the graze of stubble against his fingers.

The kiss is all too chaste for the emotion Ben presses into it, but he discards that through for the sake of feeling Hux beginning to respond, leaning into the press and smiling against his lips. A hand draws up to Ben’s neck, pulling him down but if he goes any further he is sure to topple.

They break apart, breathing heavily, but neither let’s go of the other.

“I wanted to do that, back when we were in the cell,” says Ben in the silver of air between them. He cannot tear his eyes away from every detail of Hux that keeps on being revealed to him: the way his lips pull up when he smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle, the faint dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose that Ben scarcely noticed.

“Why didn’t you?” Hux asks with a smirk. “Were you scared that you would miss?”

Ben smiles shyly, looking down from Hux. “No, I just wasn’t sure you were real.”

The smirk falls away from Hux’s lips, replaced by something vulnerable and all too open, something that he probably wishes he could hide in the dark. And the he pulls Ben down, capturing him in the kiss again. This time, it’s slow and coordinated with Hux leading the way and Ben simply following – trusting him to show the way.

There is a hand tangled in Ben’s hair, playing with the overgrown locks as the other draws down over his shoulders, his back and down to his waist before yanking him down into Hux’s lap. It causes them to break the kiss and Hux smiles when he sees Ben’s flushing.

“Did that feel real to you?” Hux asks, wrapping both of his arms around Ben’s waist.

Ben smirks and whispers “yes”, leaning in towards Hux as the starlight falls around them, wanting to indulge again.

There is a disturbance in the air and it makes both of them halt.

Somewhere below, Rey shifts on her cot, muttering in her sleep. Ben and Hux wait for a pulse of fear in her mind or perhaps discomfort but there is nothing but the lulling swim of ebbing dreams.

“She will be awake soon,” says Hux, his arms still wrapped around Ben. “You should be with her then.”

“No,” Ben argues, standing from Hux’s lap. “She won’t know me.”

Hux narrows his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “But you had told me that you helped her escape, that you knew her. Did you lie?”

“No!” cries Ben, his rage suddenly flaring from the accusation but he snuffs it out instantly. “I had known Rey all her childhood,” he explains. “But when I helped Luke rescue her from the massacre we decided it would be best to remove the memories of her origins, in case they caused her to be discovered.”

“You mean to say she has no idea who she is?”

Eyes downcast, Ben nods.

Hux watches him a moment with a cold expression before sneering, “The irony of sheltering from darkness with blindness still doesn’t fail to amuse me.” His emotions shift so quickly it almost makes Ben feel uneasy if he hadn’t known better, if their survival hadn’t taught him anything.

Ben’s retort is cut off by a sudden spike in Rey’s consciousness as she jerks up from her rest, her heartbeat panicked.

Wordlessly, Hux pushes himself out of the seat and swiftly stalks out of the cockpit. As Ben follows him, he realises that without the billows of his robes Hux seems oddly small and unintimidating. He wonders how he hadn’t noticed it before.

Below the main deck there is a hallway from which lead cargo holds and cabins for the crew. Hux unlocks the first door on the right, pausing at the threshold before entering. Ben doesn’t dare to follow.

Rey’s startled gasp sounds from within. There is a scuff of feet and a frantic rustle of fabric. Hux’s calm, collected voice begins to flow, eventually halting Rey’s flustering. They begin to speak in low voices, footsteps pressing closer.

Unsure of what to do, Ben paces outside, never looking up from his feet as he stalks past the open door into the room, the words of the conversation fleeting from him.

“What do we do now?” Ben hears Rey whisper. Pausing at the door, he can’t help but look: Rey is sat on the cot, her legs dangling from the edge, her hair is in knotted trails and brows creased as she intently looks at Hux whose dark figure stands before her. “Where do we go?” Rey asks.

“To the Resistance, of course.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Safe Keeping (Bonus Chapter)

Falling.

Falling.

Eyes wide open. Stone floor. Cold. Can’t breathe, can’t see but for the pinpricks of light.

He must protect them, keep them close, should they snuff out.

A soft voice, sweet voice, calling for him in the dark.

He turns but can’t see.

A name in return.

Something closer and he can’t breathe.

There is nothing but the scarred face of a titan.

He can’t crawl but beg as hands drag him back.

Calling.

Calling.

He can’t breathe.

 

Hux kicks awake.

Staring ahead he only sees the walls of the cabin.

He _sees,_ for one. So he grins.

Something tightens around his chest and Hux chokes on a scream.

At the last moment, as he is about to kick away, he notices the weight lodged against his chest. Looking down, he sees a mangled crown of dark hair peeking out from under the covers. It snuffles and buries deeper against his chest as strong arms clinging onto him and legs tangle with his own.

Hux bites down a laugh as he curls an arm around Ben’s shoulders. As the giddy laughter continues to bubble up Hux bites down on his bottom lip and pushes his face into Ben’s hair, sighing deeply against it.

It shouldn’t have worked. Both Ben and he should be dead in Snoke’s citadel - a bloodied, mashed mess of limb, cloth and hair.

But it worked.

He never got caught.

He is alive.

And this boy, this precious, dumb boy who he wasn't even sure was real, is safe.

It was never meant to happen like this; Hux had planned the defection for months, but then he found himself in a dark room with a frightened boy who just wanted the silence to end.

Hux never thought of himself as soft hearted, but… he couldn’t actually leave Ben.

So he did the most foolish thing he could think of.

Now, he has to look after him and the girl. He has to—.

Ben pushes up and sighs against his neck, pressing his half-opened lips into his skin. Hux tangles overgrown black hair around his fingers in loops, feeling the boy’s disproportionate face contort in some unconscious debate.

Hux had thought that Ben wouldn’t want to a share a room with him; perhaps the connotations of being in an enclosed space with him are not all that pleasant. But the first night they spent on the shuttle, the door to his cabin opened and a heavy weight fell beside Hux.

And the girl—.

Rey. That’s her name.

Rey.

She never sleeps when they do.

Once, when Hux was unable to rest, he went to the upper deck and saw her, sitting in the cockpit, just staring out into the warped tunnel of space as she huddled beneath a blanket.

When Rey does sleep, she curls in on herself with the covers tightly wrapped around her, the pink soles of her feet poking out at one end while her hair fans out like a cloud at the other.

In those scarce moments, she doesn’t look like a girl of sixteen standard years who had undergone months of imprisonment, but rather a small, scared child.

She will never be safe. Not with Ben or Hux, or even on that forsaken planet on which she was found. 

He knows it, he has seen it.

 

 

 

 

The slop tastes like meat and vegetation all at once and its colour doesn’t give away much about the ingredients.

Rey inspects the spoonful of food paste; she is sure that she can make out individual lumps but then they sink and everything becomes indistinguishable, brown pulp again. She spoons it into her mouth anyway, holding the half empty can in her hand as she circles the taste around her tongue.

The first time Rey ate food after spending months of depending on the pills that she was given in the cell, she threw up and her stomach ached for hours. Hux told her that she ate too much to quickly – she needs to take her time as her stomach gets used to processing solids again.

It was hard to follow the advice because there are no rations and Rey doesn’t have to pay for the food, she doesn’t have to do anything but reach for what she wants and eat. She finds not just taking more and more a little difficult.

Life finally seems somehow so kind and safe. At last, she is free from the hunger and— And from that voice, that spoke about the Force. Rey thought it was a myth, this power… perhaps, she would have denied it before, thought of it as just some story from childhood. But it said that she has this gift.

There is a scuffle in the shuttle and Rey leans over the side in her seat and looks out, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and head falling away. The upper deck is empty and Rey frowns, the spoon still stuck in her mouth. Perhaps it’s either Hux or Ben; like her, they find it difficult to sleep.

Once, Rey saw Hux stumble out from the lower level, wide eyed and panting as if he had been chased. When he caught her watching from the cockpit, Hux pulled a tight smile and asked why she wasn’t sleeping, if she is okay.

That moment was almost kind. Not that Hux is kind. No. Perhaps dutiful? It seems to be the only correct word to describe him; he does everything systematically and efficiently, like a soldier, opting for actions that will yield optimum results – his words.

Sometimes, Hux scares her because there are moments when Rey isn’t sure that he is all there; the look in his eyes becomes distant and his fists clench so tightly his nails leave bright red crescents in his palms. But at least there is Ben to help bring him back from wherever he loses himself.  

Though Rey should be afraid of Hux the most, with his powers and bursts of cold rage, it’s Ben who frightens her; it always seems as if he knows more about her than she has ever said, appearing more comfortable around her than he should be.

So Rey keeps away from him, only answering in short phrases.

She doesn’t want to hate him, but perhaps she can’t bring herself to feel safe.

Perhaps that is why when Rey heard them discussing where they could ditch the shuttle and find different transport that would bring them to the Resistance base, she suggested Jakku.

Endless walls of marks. That is what the voice showed her.

She has been away for too long. What if they have come back for her?

 

 

 

 

Sweet, dark, soft and warm. A cocoon of velvet that pulls around him. This is what sleep is like for Ben now.

Somehow, he knows that it’s too early to be awake though there isn’t sunlight to indicate the passing the day. So he lingers in the velvet darkness, feeling the contours of the warm body that is pressed against his own, sighing against the smooth, soft skin as fingers trail over his shoulders.

Safe. He is safe.

Smiling, Ben presses his lips against the column of Hux’s neck, slowly trailing up towards his jaw, the stubble scratching. He wants to chase the taste of his lips, but he has to push himself up, dislodging himself from under Hux’s hands.

Once settled, he kisses Hux’s cheek, nuzzling against the scruff. Suddenly, he halts, feeling something wet beneath his touch.  

Leaning away, Ben licks his lips, tasting salt.

“Hux?”

Silence.

The overhead light flickers on as Ben sits up on the bed, the covers pooling around him.

Hux remains lying, an arm flung over his eyes as he grimaces. Now, Ben can see the slick trails of tears on his face, locks of hair clinging to them like ribbons of blood.

“Hux?” Ben tries, leaning down and brushing away the wet hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just—.”  Hux sighs, rolling onto his back, escaping Ben’s touch. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Ben argues, taking hold of Hux’s arm that hides his face, the pale wrist limp in his hand. Below, he sees distant tear pooled eyes, reddened like they are aching.

Hux blinks from the sudden light, eyes drawing into focus, before a scowl hardens his expression and he snatches back his wrist. Turning away, Hux covers his face with his forearms, hands fisted.

Sighing, Ben lies back onto the bed, lodging himself behind Hux, head pressed against those fragile shoulder blades as the overhead light fades.

“Please, will you talk to me?” Ben mutters. He expects silence and the breathing to slow, becoming drowsy with sleep as Hux shoves his thoughts down. He doesn’t expect to hear the weak voice echoing through Hux’s bones.

“I can’t keep you safe.”

Ben props himself up on an elbow, peering down at Hux. “What?”

Hux says nothing, pressing his fisted hands into his hair, the knuckles digging into the scalp.

“Hux?”

An open palm slams against the mattress. “I can’t keep you safe!” Hux barks, punctuating with a hard blow of a fist that trembles the bedframe. Hux shoves a pillow against his face, whimpering.  

When the silence returns, Ben draws himself against Hux, curling around him even as the ragged breathing shakes Hux. Then, slowly, he envelops an arm around the smaller body, gently taking the hand that rattled the bed.

There is no protest when Ben lifts it, tracing the wrist where there are three protruding ridges that he cannot see in the dim light of the cabin.

Perhaps Hux is right, perhaps he can’t keep Ben safe. None of them will be safe ever again. No matter where they run, not one day will they be able to spend without looking back. And yet, this doesn’t stop Ben from forming these foolish words.

“I know, it’s okay,” says Ben. “It’s my turn to keep you safe.”

“You can’t.”

“Won’t stop me from trying.”

Hux shifts under his arm until they are facing each other. Even in the scarce light, Ben can see the redness of Hux’s hair, those wild firey tangles gleaming like embers. Hux leans forward and presses his forehead against Ben’s.

“You’re just as much of a fool as I am,” Hux sighs, his voice already losing its edge, mellowed by exhaustion. There isn’t much space between them and he only has to whisper to make himself heard.

“Doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”

Ben hears Hux smile as the rigid tension eases away.

Somewhere, out in the corridor, there is a patter of bare feet. A door opens and closes.

Silence ebbs back into the cabin, but neither fear it.

As the velvet darkness of sleep begins to take Ben, he feels hands envelop his own, cocooning them in safety, and then he knows that this is real.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
